


Listen, Live, Lie, Laugh, Learn & Love

by Gumnut



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Angst, Family, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-22 04:56:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15574269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gumnut/pseuds/Gumnut
Summary: For the world is unkind and it needs your touch. (aka Five times Virgil Tracy sang in public whether he knew it or not, and one time he didn't have to.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Listen  
> Author: Gumnut  
> 5 Aug 2018  
> Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015  
> Rating: Teen  
> Summary: For the world is unkind and it needs your touch.  
> Word count: 877  
> Spoilers & warnings: None  
> Author's note: I may need to change my name to ‘Corny’. This has probably been done before, but eh, it is just a scribble. Also, apparently I’ve fallen far enough to start writing poetry again ::headdesk:: Man, I got it bad.  
> Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

_Listen, my son._

_Listen and learn_

_Be what you can_

_And make what you will be_

_Love with your all_

_Share with your heart_

_And know_

_I am there for you_

_And will always be_

_If you can hear_

_Answer_

_If you have voice_

_Sing_

_For the world is unkind_

_And it needs your touch._

 

 

It was evening. The last of the sun’s rays were just catching the glass overhead. Virgil sat quietly in front of his piano listening to his brothers arguing. It had been some time since the argument had started, but then it had been inevitable due to the day they had had. Another bad one. Another soul draining rescue that barely earned the term. The voices loudest were, of course, Scott and Gordon, but Virgil could tell it wasn’t anger fuelling the words. It was exhaustion, frustration and no lack of sadness.

 

Alan was curled up in one corner of the couch faking sleep. John hovered in the middle of the room, his hologram frowning and interspersing words as he saw fit.

 

The argument was going in circles.

 

Virgil sighed. He had already voiced his opinion and it had been ignored. Somewhat an indicator of the level of pain in the room. No one was listening to anyone.

 

He looked down at the keyboard. God, he was tired.

 

-o-o-o-

 

Scott’s throat hurt. It hurt to yell, but yell he did. “Goddamnit, Gordon, what do I need to do to get it into your head that I’m right?”

 

“Right? What makes you right and me wrong? Even if I had done what you said, she still would have died!”

 

“You don’t know that!”

 

“Yes, I do, Scott, that woman was dead no matter what we did!” Gordon’s eyes glared up at him. “We can’t save everyone. I had to save those who could be saved.”

 

Scott spun on the spot and sunk his boot into the nearest couch. The next couch over shook enough to startle Alan out of his fake sleep. “Christ, calm down, Sc-“

 

A single musical note interrupted them. Several more followed and Scott turned to glare at Virgil. But his brother’s eyes were closed, and the tune was a familiar one.

 

Then to Scott’s complete astonishment, Virgil began to softly sing.

 

“ _The road is long_

_With many a winding turn.”_

 

His voice was gentle, barely heard above the piano.

 

_“That leads us to who knows where_

_Who knows where.”_

 

It would have been corny, but Virgil never sang. Never. Not even in the shower. Not since Mom…

 

_“But I'm strong_

_Strong enough to carry him_

_He ain't heavy, he's my brother.”_

 

Scott was vaguely aware of his other three brothers staring as stupidly as he was. All thoughts of argument gone. Something in his heart was beating out of sequence.

 

_“If I'm laden at all_

_I'm laden with sadness_

_That everyone's heart_

_Isn't filled with the gladness_

_Of love for one another.”_

 

Virgil did not open his eyes once. His brow furrowed, his fingers played and his voice sang. So softly, ever so gently.

 

_“It's a long, long road_

_From which there is no return_

_While we're on the way to there_

_Why not share.”_

The piano keys echoed in the silence.

 

_“And the load_

_Doesn't weigh me down at all_

_He ain't heavy he's my brother.”_

 

The last line was repeated. Once, twice and barely heard a last time. His brother’s fingers deftly danced a last riff and then the air was empty of sound.

 

Virgil opened his eyes and pinned each of them in turn, his lips thin. But he didn’t say anything. Simply stood up and walked out of the room.

 

Scott blinked.

 

Gordon’s voice was quiet. “I guess that is one way to end an argument.”

 

He looked at his younger brother and his lips twitched. Scott let out a breath and reaching out, wrapped an arm around Gordon’s shoulders and drew him close. If his lips touched his brother’s hair, neither said a thing about it.

 

“Let’s call it a night.” He shot a lopsided, wistful smile at Alan.

 

His youngest brother returned it half-heartedly. “It was a shitty day.”

 

Scott stared in the direction of Virgil’s exit. “Yeah.”

 

“Yeah, it was.”

 

-o-o-o-

 

End Part One


	2. Live

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Live  
> Part 2 of 6, Follows on from Listen  
> Author: Gumnut  
> 5 Aug 2018  
> Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015  
> Rating: Teen  
> Summary: For the world is unkind and it needs your touch.  
> Word count: 1042  
> Spoilers & warnings: None  
> Author’s note: Okay, this follows on from Listen but is standalone, each can be read by themselves, and each will be different (well, I think so, I haven’t written the other four yet and who knows what the boys will have me doing). Un-beta’d so everything is my fault. I’m sorry, Scott :D  
> Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

Alan dashed down the corridor, desperately looking for a hiding spot. He was so dead. How was he supposed to know Scott was going to walk into Gordon’s room before Gordon did? He hadn’t known, but that didn’t negate the fact that there was now glue, feathers, an ample amount of blue dye and one very pissed off eldest brother to contend with.

“ALAN!!”

Aw, shit.

Where to go…he darted between a bathroom and a closet before his eyes landed on the answer to everything.

Virgil’s studio door.

He smiled grimly.

Anyone and everyone was banned from entering their artistic brother’s personal domain. Thinking of it now, glue, feathers and blue dye might be one of the reasons why. But regardless of the reason, it would keep Scott out.

Alan slunk down the corridor and quietly opened the door, slipping through a crack barely as wide as he. Equally as quietly, he closed the door behind him.

It wasn’t until the door shut with a soft click that he realised that the lights were on and someone was definitely in the room.

Reflexes learnt on far distant moons and beside the family pool had him diving for cover behind a desk before he’d even identified the room’s occupant as Virgil.

He held his breath, fully expecting a raging second eldest brother to come crashing down upon him followed by the pending older landslide he’d prepped earlier.

But nothing happened.

Still barely daring to breathe, Alan peered around the edge of the desk. Virgil had his back to him. He was wearing an old pair of faded jeans and a short sleeved black t-shirt, both sported paint stains. As did the slightly canted black beret on his head.

Alan raised an eyebrow as Virgil raised his paintbrush to the canvas. Okay, this was something he hadn’t seen before. Sure he had seen his brother paint before. Heh, he’d even been a subject of several of those paintings over the years. But the beret – that was new.

And so were the shoulder movements. Virgil lifted his brush off the painting – a massive canvas taller and wider than his brother by a metre or so – and began moving his body rhythmically.

Alan’s eyes boggled until his brother turned slightly to expose his wireless earbuds.

Music. Virgil was listening to music. While he was painting.

And he obviously had no idea Alan was in the room.

Virgil’s brush was now conducting some unseen orchestra and the expression on his brother’s face could only be described as absorbed. His head bobbed to an unheard beat, his shoulders rolled, flexing his torso, and his right knee jigged in counterpoint.

And suddenly, whatever he was listening to must have come to a crescendo, because Virgil jumped up, flung his arms wide and arched his back. He opened his mouth and sung without words.

Alan blinked. His brother was singing to the music, whatever it was, but only mouthing the words. Not that it seemed to matter to him. He was definitely lost in whatever was playing in his ears. There was very little painting getting done.

And then Virgil started wriggling his butt.

Alan buried his face in his hands. Oh god. He didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or hysterical. Perhaps a little bit of both. A small voice in the back of his mind was screaming at him that he was on sacred ground, an inch away from death and mortification, and not sure which would be worse.

Another apparent crescendo as Virgil jumped again. Oh, great there was a pantomimed microphone.

He was dead. There was no doubt about it. He dropped his gaze to the ground almost terrified to look anymore.

There was a single white feather on the linoleum.

Alan drew in a breath and looked up.

His eldest brother was standing in the cracked open doorway, hair covered in feathers and half his face the same colour as his eyes. Those eyes momentarily distracted by Virgil shaking his booty yet again. Just beyond him stood Gordon looking like all his Christmases had come at once.

Alan opened his mouth to say something, but Scott slapped him with his eyes. A finger to his lips, he grabbed his arm and dragged him through the door, shoving him into the hallway. Gordon was equally ejected. Scott peered inside the studio for a moment longer before pulling the door quietly shut. Hopefully Virgil was none the wiser.

One killer older brother was enough.

He then found himself being dragged alongside Gordon down to the comms room where he knew the soundproofing would hide the tirade he knew was coming. Scott planted himself in front of the two of them. Alan cringed waiting.

But nothing came. Nothing loud.

Calmly, quietly. “I’m disappointed, Alan. I thought you had more respect for Virgil.” Alan opened his mouth, but Scott held up a hand. Another feather floated to the floor. “He asked you to respect his privacy. As much as he respects yours.” His glance flickered to Gordon. “I don’t want to hear a whisper of this. I don’t want your brother to know you were in there, I want no discussion whatsoever, or so help me you will wish you had never stepped foot in this house much less that room.” Gordon opened his mouth. “No, Gordon, just no. Both of you act like adults, for goodness sake.”

-o-o-o-

The two of them, even Gordon, stared up at him as if he had threatened them with bodily harm. Well, he had, vaguely, but the threat needed to be strong enough to tie up one of the worst pranksters and his cohort. If a threat would do that, he would do it.

“I’m going to shower and get this mess off my head.” He glared at Alan. “I hope this is a water-soluble dye, Alan, otherwise I’m lining you up in front of our next customer to explain why the Field Commander of International Rescue is wearing Celtic warpaint.”

His youngest brother visibly swallowed.

Flicking another glare in their direction, he headed off to his shower.

And if he smiled on the way there, no one had to know the image of his booty-shaking brother was the cause of it.

-o-o-o-

End Part Two


	3. Lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Lie  
> Part 3 of 6, following Live  
> Author: Gumnut  
> 5 Aug 2018  
> Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015  
> Rating: Teen  
> Summary: For the world is unkind and it needs your touch.  
> Word count: 747  
> Spoilers & warnings: None  
> Author’s note: This is not a happy fic, I’m sorry, Virgil.  
> Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

It was a well-known family fact that Virgil Tracy did not sing in public. Scott and John knew why. Gordon and Alan had been purposely kept in the dark.

There had been humming during piano compositions. Tapping of fingers, the occasional whistle, a clicking of tongue, but other than his sudden and remonstrative overture to his brothers a few weeks back, no words, not even a single happy birthday in the crowd.

Not even in the shower.

Even Scott sang in the shower, rather badly. Gordon was also well known for wailing extremely off key, though Kayo threatening to come visit him if he didn’t shut up usually fixed that.

No, Virgil, for all his musical skill, hardly sung a word.

So it was rather startling to hear Brahm’s Lullaby in his soft baritone whispering over the comms.

Scott was shin deep in mud at the time. Another mudslide, another tragedy from which they had managed to save many but had lost far more. He’d just managed to haul a young man out of a house that had trapped just enough air for him to survive. The man’s terror had only been matched by his gratitude on being found. Scott had muddy handprints all over him, a reminder of how the man had not wanted to let go of him.

His brother’s soft singing had only just now caught his attention.

“Virgil?”

Virgil did not respond, the almost whispered words of the song gentle in Scott’s ears.

Every alarm bell available in Scott’s vast repertoire immediately screamed at him. Something was wrong, very wrong.

“Thunderbird Five, give me a location on Virgil?”

“Two hundred and thirty-three metres due west of your position.”

Scott looked over in that direction. It led to the edge of the village. A flick of his wrists and he activated his jetpack…jetpack number three for today. He really needed to speak to Brains about extending their range. They were definitely useful in this situation, enabling him to coast over obstacles, but their range was limited.

He lifted up over the ruins of the house and the wash of sludge and vegetation. The air was full of wailing and the occasional scream, the groan of heavy equipment and the squelch of mud and dirty water.

Virgil continued to sing softly.

“John, do you have a read out on Virgil’s vitals.”

“No more than the usual stress indicators, Scott, why?”

Scott frowned. “You can’t hear him?”

“Hear what? Give me a sec.” Scott could almost hear him hacking comlines. A whispered, “Damn. Any ideas?”

“Here? Could be anything. I’m on my way.” The village flew beneath him, Thunderbird One and Two far off to his right. Virgil had been assigned to the heavy lifting as per usual, removing major obstructions with the pods and his exo-suit, Gordon assisting, while Alan had backed up Scott. He’d left Alan herding survivors towards the medical tents. He could see Gordon clearing access to a badly damaged building with his pod. The other pod sat abandoned on the side of the road.

Virgil wasn’t to be seen.

“John, specific location?”

“Behind the building on your left.”

It could have been called a building once. Now it was little more than a pile of broken wood and stone half buried in mud. He drifted just above the ground to avoid the mud, coasting around the wreckage. A mud smeared flicker of blue and green was crouched below the tangled limbs of a fallen tree.

Scott landed and approached his brother quietly.

“Virgil?”

The singing stopped and Virgil looked up at him. His helmet was beside him in the mud so there was nothing to hide the red strain of his tear bright eyes. “Hey, Scott.” His voice was rough and he swallowed to clear his throat. His brother reached a hand down into the mud before grabbing his helmet and unfolding to his feet. “We, uh, we lost another.” Virgil wiped his wrist across his face, leaving a mud streak across both cheeks. His lips twitched in what was sure to be an attempt at a reassuring smile, but it failed. Instead, his eyes drifted away from Scott’s, he let out a breath and turned away, his shoulders automatically straightening as he made a beeline back to his pod.

Scott’s eyes darted back to where his brother had been kneeling. A little blond-haired boy lay as if asleep. Asleep, if it weren’t for the tree.

Scott closed his eyes.

-o-o-o-

 

End Part Three


	4. Laugh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Laugh  
> Part 4 of 6, follows on from Lie  
> Author: Gumnut  
> 6 Aug 2018  
> Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015  
> Rating: Teen  
> Summary: For the world is unkind and it needs your touch.  
> Word count: 1616  
> Spoilers & warnings: None  
> Author’s note: This one was a challenge. Virgil, as usual, refused to behave and I didn’t hit the plot points that I needed. Also, he was extremely reluctant to sing, so really I only managed two lines, but the thought was there. Unlike the previous three, this one does lead directly on from Part 3 Lie and follows what happens after that travesty.  
> Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

“You!” A hoarse voice and Scott was pinned to the spot as his brother approached, his finger pointing at him. Virgil’s eyes were boring into his and the next moment, those brown irises were right up in his face. “You…” The faint scent of antiseptic and smoke. “Your eyes are very blue.”

Scott blinked, arching his back a little to get his brother back into focus, but Virgil peered closer, studying Scott’s face. “Very blue. Almost turquoise. Phthalo? A dash of cobalt? Hmm, maybe even some Cerulean. And a hell of a lot of glazing.” A finger was jabbed into his shoulder. “You…” Another jab…and a cough. “You are a lot of work.”

Virgil blinked up at him and it was only then, Scott was able to see the light fog in his brother’s eyes. Scott peered around his brother looking for Gordon, only to have to focus back on Virgil as he swayed a little. “Uh, Virgil, maybe you should sit down.”

“Don’t want to sit down.” And was that childish pout? What the hell?

“Gordon!”

“I’m coming! Virgil, where the..” The blond aquanaut appeared around the corner, his face pale and eyes anxious. “Oh, you have him. Can’t turn your back on him for a second.”

“Gordon, report!”

That did it. His younger brother focussed, his shoulders straightening automatically. “A broken arm, second degree burn on his right shoulder, bruising and some smoke inhalation.” He looked at Virgil who was now poking a finger into the side of Scott’s head. “They gave him some pretty strong stuff.”

Scott eyed the man hanging on to him. “I noticed.”

Virgil ran his hand through his brother’s hair. “So shiny!” He tried to reach up with his right arm but was hampered by the sling. Scott gently restrained him and Virgil frowned. “Ow.”

“Yes, ow, Virgil. Don’t move your arm.”

Again with the pout. Combined with the mussed hair, half his filthy uniform and the medical scrub shirt and sling, Virgil was quite a sight.

If the mudslide hadn’t been enough for this horrid day, Thunderbird Two had been diverted to a factory fire on the way home. John had been profusely apologetic, but there had been workers trapped and International Rescue was the fastest way to get them out. Scott had already made it home when John’s call came in. Virgil told him to stay there, he and Gordon could handle it.

Unfortunately, despite rescuing all five trapped workers, fate had decided that today hadn’t been awful enough and as Virgil was exiting the burning building something exploded, flinging him and the side of the building into the air. Fortunately, he had been wearing his exo-suit and it cushioned his fall. Not so fortunately, the side of the building then landed on top of him.

Gordon had been on board Two attending to the workers. He’d had the pleasure of watching his brother’s body fly past the cockpit windows. Scott knew this because Gordon had yelled it over the comms at the time.

The force had been enough to crack Virgil’s helmet, hence the smoke inhalation. Evidently, he hadn’t inhaled too much as he was once again talking, despite his croaky voice. This time he was zooming in on Gordon. “Now you, your eyes are honey.” Gordon took several steps backwards as his brother approached. “Raw and Burnt Sienna with the fire of Cadmium Orange, with perhaps a hint of Cadmium Yellow?” Virgil frowned. “Your sclera is red. Alizarin Crimson and Cadmium Red for lack of sleep. Why aren’t you sleeping? What’s wrong, Gordon?” And suddenly their more familiar, obviously concerned brother was assessing Gordon with his eyes…leaning into his brother’s personal space…falling forward…

Scott grabbed him. ”Whoa, Virgil, I think it is time to go home.”

His brother glared up at him. “Scott. Ow.”

He let go slowly. “Sorry.”

Virgil straightened up. “Is okay. What’s wrong with Gordon?”

Gordon shook his head. “I’m okay, Virg, just tired. Bad day.”

Just for a split second something flickered across Virgil’s face. “Yeah, bad day.” He blinked. “Virg?”

His younger brother rolled his eyes. “Can we go now?”

Scott eyed his two brothers, thinking. “Gordon, you up for flying One?”

Gordon’s eyes widened slightly. “Can do.”

Scott eyed him. “Not a scratch.”

“Well, yeah, I may be tired, but I’m not suicidal.” With a small smile he clasped Virgil’s uninjured shoulder. “See you back at the ranch.”

Virgil smiled at him. “See you, honey.”

-o-o-o-

Scott managed to bundle Virgil onto Thunderbird Two without too many more paint references. Apparently under the lights of the helipad, Thunderbird Two was somewhere between Olive and Sap Green with a hint of something called Payne’s Grey. By the time they made it to the hatch, Virgil had declared a new paint colour, Thunderbird Green.

Scott just sighed.

Of course, Virgil refused to stay in the medical bay, so Scott ended up strapping him into the co-pilot’s seat. He made sure his brother had zero access to anything that could send them into a plummet. There was loopy and then there was Virgil. He did grab a blanket from the medbay and made sure his brother was warm enough in the comparatively cool cockpit.

Virgil just frowned at him.

Brother finally secured, Scott made ready for take-off, contacting the local air authorities for confirmation.

“Why are you in my chair?”

“I need to get you home, Virgil. You’re injured.”

“Oh.” Silence for a moment. “How did I do that?”

“The usual way. While saving someone’s life.” Scott sighed as he engaged TB2’s VTOL. “A building fell on you.” A frown. “Do you remember?”

“Oh, yeah.”

The city lights fell beneath them as TB2 gained height. As soon as they were clear, Scott engaged the rear thrusters and banked into a climb. Light cloud flicked past the windows, lit by the moon.

For a while the only sound in the cabin was the throb of Two’s engines, and initially Scott thought his brother had finally fallen asleep. But no.

“Gordon has such beautiful eyes. Have you noticed?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” Scott shot his brother a sideways look.

“You do, too, of course, but…” Virgil trailed off, frowning. “He used to look at me with such enthusiasm, such excitement. Always ready to go out and explore. Those eyes…like honey to a bear…he could get me to do just about anything.”

Scott frowned a little, glancing over at his brother. “What?”

“When we were kids. Do you remember the fire in the barn?”

His eyes widened. “That was you?!”

Virgil grinned. “Yep. Me and Gordon. It was an accident, of course, so the fire department wasn’t wrong.”

“Dad had the local sheriff hunting for vandals!”

“Well, yeah, we wanted to live. We weren’t going to admit to anything.” Virgil smiled vaguely. “He was too little to reach and he needed my help.”

“So you helped him burn down the barn.” Exasperation.

“Hey, I never said I was a good big brother.”

Scott’s spine straightened. “You are a damn good brother. Of any size.”

“Hah!” The fog in his brother’s eyes was even more apparent now. Scott would be happy once they were home and Virgil was in bed.

There was another moment of silence, but then it was once again broken by Virgil’s whispery voice.

“You know, he was alive when I found him. Awake and everything. With beautiful honey eyes.”

It took Scott a moment to follow his brother’s train of thought. Gordon? But then no. His stomach dropped. The child from the mudslide. His hands tightened on the yoke. “Virg, you did everything you could.”

“He was too broken. I couldn’t save him. God, he looked so much like Gordon.” Virgil ran his hand through his hair.

No, this wasn’t happening. Scott flicked on the autopilot and turned to his brother, grabbing his hand. “Look, Virgil, it was horrible, but in no way were you to blame.”

“I know.” He shrugged and winced. “Ow. Damn. I know. It happens.”

Scott squeezed his hand. “You gave him what you could. He was lucky to have you there.”

Again Virgil shrugged and this time he swore. A good guess would be that the happy juice was beginning to wear off. “Maybe you should…”

“No, I’m staying here.” Virgil grimaced, clenching his eyes shut a moment before forcing them open again. “Someone has to keep an eye on you.”

“Oh, so we’re playing that card, are we? Don’t damage Beautiful Big Green?”

“You can’t talk.”

“Thunderbird One is a precision instrument. She requires skill. Thunderbird Two is a brick with wings.” It was tactical. Still, he may not survive.

Virgil’s eyes widened and for a moment, Scott seriously wondered if it was actually possible for his brother’s head to inflate and explode. To save his life he deployed the only weapon he had left – a shit-eating grin.

Virgil’s eyes narrowed and he deflated. “You brat.”

“Uh-huh.”

Virgil let himself fall back in his seat and closed his eyes. “Just get us home in one piece, you precision wielder.”

“Plan to.”

Scott turned back to the controls and once again there was silence. They weren’t far out from home now, another fifteen minutes at most. He let himself relax a little. Almost home. Virgil was as good as he could be, considering. This rotten day was nearly over.

Beside him, Virgil gently breathed out a wistful sigh, clearly half asleep, he muttered a few words…

_“I am there for you_   
_And will always be.”_

There was barely a tune, but it was familiar. From the depths of a long ago childhood.

A whispered, “Love you…Gordy.” And Virgil settled into sleep.

Scott smiled, if a little sadly.

-o-o-o-

End Part Four


	5. Learn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Learn  
> Part 5 of 6, some time after Laugh  
> Author: Gumnut  
> 10-14 Aug 2018  
> Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015  
> Rating: Teen  
> Summary: For the world is unkind and it needs your touch.  
> Word count: 4313  
> Spoilers & warnings: None  
> Author’s note: Unlike the previous chapters of this fic, this one ends at a point that obviously needs to be continued. I wouldn’t really call it a cliffhanger, but part 6 is definitely needed to finish it off. As to the content - you wanted whump, you got whump, lots of it. Not graphic, but still, poor Virgil.  
> Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

Virgil woke to dust and pain.

Shoving his eyes open didn’t give him much further information other than dim light, blur and haze. Blinking he forced his vision to clear somewhat, his head threatened to spin him away, but he grit his teeth. Dust and pain were not a good combination, he knew that much.

He was on his back, in dim shadowy light, on lumpy hard rock. His hand twitched and his fingernails caught dirt. Experimenting, he lifted his arm. It worked. Ached with what was likely a mass of bruises, but it still worked. He held his hand in front of his face. He could see it, his fingers moving in the dim light.

There was no glove on his hand.

Where was his uniform? Uh.

What the hell had happened?

He was in civvies. His usual flannel shirt, grey undershirt. His hand brushed his thigh. Jeans.

He lifted a leg, but was told in immediate and no uncertain terms that it was a bad idea. His leg seemed fine, but his gut screamed loud enough to shut down most of the processes in his brain. The world greyed for a moment.

No.

Stay awake.

He forced his eyes open again.

Dust floated in the air.

His head was at an angle enough to see partway down his body. And what he saw was enough to let him know that moving pretty much anything was out of the question.

Something was sticking out the right side of his abdomen. A three-quarter inch thick mangled rod of metal protruded by about four inches. His grey undershirt was soaking up red.

Panic hit him. Oh, god. Get it out, get it out!

No.

You can’t move.

Reason clamped down on him and strangled his scream into a whimper.

“Mr Virgil?”

Huh?

“Mr Virgil?” A high-pitched voice. A kid? There were scrabbling sounds from his left and one of the shadows got darker. Without thinking, Virgil grabbed the edge of his flannel shirt and covered the wound, hiding it.

“Mr Virgil, are you okay?” A young boy of about eight, coated in dirt, sporting scratches and a bleeding scrape above his left eye appeared amongst the floating dust.

Daniel. His name was Daniel.

And it explained so much. Virgil was in Wellington with Angela and the kids art group.

Several years ago, Virgil had rescued Angela from a gondola lift on the South Island. She had been the last one to be evacuated and, to keep her calm, he got her talking. Turned out she was an art teacher who helped disadvantaged kids in Wellington. Virgil found himself interested and investigated further. For the last couple of years, he had been dropping in when he could to help with the kids. He’d even learnt a little himself. The kids didn’t know of his involvement with International Rescue. He was just Mr Virgil who liked to play with paint.

Virgil liked it that way.

So he was in Wellington, at the school with the kids. What had happened?

“Mr Virgil?”

He blinked and realised he hadn’t answered. He croaked, “Daniel, are you okay?”

Wrong question. Daniel’s face immediately crumpled and he burst into tears, throwing himself at Virgil’s chest. A good thirty kilos of kid hit his body, forcing out a gasp of pain.  
“Mr Virgil!” Daniel jumped back, tears still falling.

“I’m…I’m okay.” He forced it out between his teeth. Breathe. In. Out.

He needed help. He needed it now.

Civvies, but ever since John’s adventure at the charity auction, Brains had embedded comms in all their clothes. He poked his collar. “J-John?”

“Virgil? What’s wrong?”

“W-we have a situation.”

-o-o-o-

Scott was in the shower when the alarm went off.

Damn it.

Soap was hurriedly washed out of his hair, the water cut off and a towel deployed. He left wet footprints in the hallway.

There were no smart ass comments when he hit the comms room, however. Both his brothers’ expressions were more shocked than anything else. John was hovering in the middle of the lounge, a hologram of a collapsed building in front of him.

“Report!”

“St Bart’s College has been bombed.” Gordon’s voice was hoarse.

Scott stared at him. “St Bart’s as in Virgil’s St Bart’s?”

John interrupted. “Preliminary reports claim a student disgruntled with his grades is responsible. A good percentage of the building has collapsed…including the section where Virgil was assisting with his class.” Scott opened his mouth, but John continued. “Virgil has made contact.” Oh thank god. But John had a calm expression and this wasn’t it. “He’s injured, but conscious. I have no readouts on his status as he is not wearing his uniform.” John swallowed, obviously frustrated at the lack of information he usually had. “There are multiple lifesigns under the rubble. They need us.”

Scott didn’t hesitate. “Gordon, you have Thunderbird 2, Alan, you’re with him.” He clung to his towel, moving before he had even finished speaking. “Thunderbirds are go.”

-o-o-o-

John had a lot of questions.

Daniel had a lot of questions.

Virgil had no answers.

Breathing was beginning to hurt.  
“John, just gimme a sec.” A breath.

“Virgil-“

“They are on their way. They will be here soon. I get it. Just, I need to breathe, bro.” He tried to keep it light, but there was a gasp in his breath he couldn’t hide.

John went silent. Virgil closed his eyes a moment and tried not to move.

“Mr Virgil?”

He forced his eyes open. “I’m okay, I’m okay. Daniel? Are any of the other students with you?”

“I’ll look.” The boy turned away and began to crawl back through the gap in the rubble.

Virgil reached to grab his ankle. “No! Stay he-“ Augh, oh god, don’t move, damnit! The boy slipped away, leaving Virgil by himself.

“Virgil?” No, never entirely by himself.

“John, how many life readings are you receiving from the classroom?” Or what was left of it.

“Seven.” The single word held all the apology and sympathy his brother could convey. Seven out of fifteen. His eyes slid closed again.

“Virgil?”

Was it possible to get sick of hearing your own name? “I-I’m here.”

“You still haven’t given me a report on your injuries.”

“Daniel w-was here.”

“Tell me, Virgil.”

He took a breath. “M-mostly okay. Maybe concussion. Worst is ab-abdominal. Right side. Maybe rebar. C-n’t move.” Abdominal was never good. He dreaded to think what was happening down there. And how much time he actually had left.

John was quiet a moment, then the channel switched over to a background sound ever so familiar. Thunderbird One. “Virg?”

“Hey, Scott. S-sorry to r-ruin your day off.”

“I was in the shower, Virgil. Very inconvenient.”

“G-good practise.” Virgil smirked just slightly.

“Next time I’m making you a contender in the towel Olympics.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Hey, if you got out of bed at a reasonable hour, you wouldn’t be caught so often.”

“Your ‘r-reasonable hours’ are anything but, f-flyboy.”

Scott’s laugh was forced, but it was a valiant effort. “I’m on approach now, Virgil. Won’t be long.”

“Gordon, f-flying?”

“Of course.”

“Not a scratch.”

“Too late.”

“W-What?!”

“He clipped her wing exiting the hanger.”

“What the hell?!”

Somewhere in the distance outside his tomb of rock and dust he could just hear the roar of TB1’s approach. “Landing now.”

“Scott!”

“Sorry, can’t talk. Busy rescuing.” His grin danced down the comline.

Virgil glared at the slab of wall hanging over him.

-o-o-o-

The college grounds were a mess. One building was levelled, no lifesigns. Another, the one pinning his brother, had sagged to one side. Half up, half down, entirely precarious. Fourteen lives hung in the balance under the rubble. One was his brother’s.

On landing, he was immediately approached by the site head and briefed. Moments later, Thunderbird Two’s engines took over the soundscape, her massive green bulk landing beside her sister before pushing herself up on her landing struts to reveal Module Two beneath her wings.

“Gordon, we need both pods, pick and throw.” It would have helped to have Virgil in his exo-suit. “Alan, you have one, I’ll have the other. Gordon, you’re on heavy lifting with Thunderbird Two. We’re going to have to take this one slowly. This house of cards is just asking to fall.”

-o-o-o-

The rock above him was beginning to blur when he was startled by movement in the gap Daniel had disappeared into.

“Mr Virgil! I found Marissa, Johnny, Alex and Jana.” The eight-year-old clambered into the space beside him and four other children, ragged and tear streaked, followed him in. “Ms Angela won’t wake up. Neither will Chrissie, and I couldn’t find anyone else.”

Virgil stared up at the five faces peering down at him. Alex was holding his arm awkwardly, Jana had a large scrape down one side of her face and appeared unsteady, but the other two seemed okay.

“O-okay, Daniel, good job.” He tried not to spare a thought for Chrissie or Angela, knowing in his heart that at least one of them was dead. “Are any of you hurt?”

Alex nodded, but Jana didn’t respond. “Jana?” He couldn’t reach her from where he was lying. “Daniel, can you please check on Jana? B-bring her closer?”

“Jana! Mr Virgil wants you to come over here!”

Virgil blinked. Not quite what he had in mind. But it worked. Jana started and clambered over the rocks to Virgil’s side. He looked up at her. It was hard to see in the dim light, but her expression was glazed. The scrape was seeping blood and plasma. “Jana? Can you hear me?”

She blinked slowly, looking down at him. “Mr Virgil?” Her voice was a whisper. “I don’t feel very good.”

“Johnny?”

“Yes?” “Mr Virgil?” The answer came from two sources – his collar and the young boy in front of him. He sighed. “John, meet Johnny. He’s going to help look after Jana.”

“Hello, Johnny.” John’s gentle voice bounced off the rocks.

“Who’s that?” Four of the children crowded even closer. Jana still had a vague look on her face and was staring at nothing in particular.

Virgil’s concern for the girl grew even more. “John is my…from International Rescue and he is going to help us.”

“International Rescue? Really?” Daniel looked like his eyes were going to pop out of his head.

Virgil couldn’t help but smile just a little. “Yes, there are two Thunderbirds outside right now. And they are going to help us get out of here.” He swallowed as a wave of dizziness wafted out of nowhere. “But in the meantime, Johnny, I need you to help Jana. She is not feeling very w-well, and she needs you to look after her.”

The young boy eyed the wavering girl before shifting over and wrapping an arm around her. “Okay, I’ll look after her.” He seemed hesitant, but at the same time, having a job to do appeared to stabilise him too. Jana slowly looked up at Alex before resting her head on his shoulder.

Virgil drew in a shaky breath. “John, how’s it going? I have five children, two with injuries.”

“Sorry, Virgil. Scott says it is slow going. They have to secure large parts of the building remains to prevent further collapse.” As if to emphasize that statement, dust suddenly poured through a gap just on the other side of Marissa. She squealed and scooted forward, directly into Virgil’s left side.

He gasped and bit off a scream. Spots swam in his vision. “Pl-please…”

“Don’t touch him!” Daniel shouted at her and dragged her back. “He’s hurt.”

Marissa’s eyes widened and filled with tears. She began to cry.

“Virgil?” John’s voice was beyond concerned.

“I’m…”He tried to breathe without moving. “I’m…o-okay.” Focus. Calm. He reached out a trembling hand to Marissa, managing to catch her knee. “I-it’s okay. W-was an ac-cident.” He had to shut his eyes for a moment as another wave of dizziness hit him. God. “Scott? M-may need t-to hurry.”

-o-o-o-

IR pods were of the most efficient design possible, but this was a haphazard game of pickup sticks with lives as the prize.

And they weren’t moving fast enough.

Each chunk of masonry had to be checked for possible movement before moving it. Keep everything balanced. They had had to start on the opposite side of the building to where Virgil and the children were due to stability issues and it was taking forever.

“Scott.”

“I know, John.”

“I know you know and I know. I’m sorry.”

There had to be a faster way than this. He paused a moment taking a few extra precious seconds to reassess the structure. Six lifesigns where his brother was. Plus one in a larger area just beyond him. Seven more in the remains of another classroom, two of whom they had already managed to rescue. Virgil was under a collapsed wall, its remains supported by the collapsed roof in the corner of the former classroom. Beyond that wall, a shallow crawl space had been created by another wall that appeared to be supported by nothing other than tables and chairs. That wall had fallen before the roof and the roof was piled on top of it in pieces which in turn was supporting Virgil’s wall. A wrong move and all seven lives, including that of his brother, would be lost.

All they could do was pick and throw, gently removing the weight from above, clearing the way for TB2 to get a grip on the masonry and secure it.

“Virgil, you with me?”

“H-here.” His voice was shaky.

“You’ve done it properly this time, little brother. You wanting to test my skill set or something?”

“Or-or something.”

Scott swallowed, forcing his bravado. “Well, just as well you’ve got such a cool brother, because this is no challenge, you hear me? We’ll have you out of there in no time.”

“G-great, Scott.”

“Yeah, yeah, Doc Brown. You hang in there, you hear me?”

“Do my-my best.”

“You better.”

-o-o-o-

“Your brother works for International Rescue?”

Virgil blearily turned to look at Daniel. “Yeah, S-scott, he’s f-field commander.”

“Wow, that is so cool.”

Virgil’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Yeah, ‘tis.”

“Have you ever got to fly in a Thunderbird?”

“Yeah.” He frowned, his head was getting foggier.

“Which one?”

“Two.” Of course.

“Not One? I think One is the coolest. Shaped like a rocket and everything. Then there is Three. That one is a rocket. It would be so cool to ride on Three.” Virgil let the boy’s chatter echo around him. At least it was keeping him and the other children distracted from their situation. He closed his eyes a moment and let himself drift.

No.

Stay awake!

“T-two’s pretty cool.”

“I guess, but what’s with the colour? That green is so not cool.”

“Is, t-too. Mom’s colour.”

“Whose colour?”

“Mom’s.” Virgil shook himself, and gasped. No, no movement. Stay…stay awake.

“Mine’s red. Like Thunderbird Three.”

“E-emerald green. L-like the grass after rain.” Mom.

“Virgil.”

Rain.

“Virgil.”

Thunderbird Green.

“Virgil!”

He started. “Oh, god. John?”

“You hanging in there, big brother?”

“He’s your brother too?” Daniel was staring at him.

“Uh, huh.”

“Daniel, can you hear me?” Great, now John was talking around him.

“Mr John?”

“Yes, you are being very good, Daniel. Now I need you to help Mr Virgil stay awake. He has to stay awake. Do you think you can help him with that?”

“Is he tired?”

“Yes, but he can’t sleep. Not yet, not until his brothers get you out of there. See if you can keep him talking.”

“Okay, I can try.”

“Thank you, Daniel.” A pause. “Virgil?”

“Huh?”

“Scott and Alan are on pick and flick. They will get to you soon. Your job is to stay awake and hang in there. Can you do that?

“C-can.”

“You better.”

-o-o-o-

“What if we reinforced this section here and tunnelled our way to that crawl space.”

“Risky.”

“I know that, John. We’re running out of time.”

“Virgil’s isn’t the only life at stake here.”

“I know that, too. For god’s sake, John.”

“I’m voting for the crawl space. We are getting nowhere with pick and flick. The pile is too fragile. We can reinforce it from beneath and make our way through that way.” Gordon’s voice was tired and on the edge of desperate. Despite rescuing seven people already, four of them children, nothing they had tried so far had gotten them any closer to their brother. The strain was showing. They had no doubt that with an abdominal perforation, chances were that Virgil’s time was severely limited. They had to move faster.

But without risking more.

Scott stared at the hologram and weighed their chances.

“Deploy the jacks.”

-o-o-o-

“Why don’t we sing a song?”

What?

Things were getting fuzzy. Daniel…

“How about Camptown Races?” A girl’s voice.

“Ugh, I hate that chicken.”

“Mulberry Bush?”

“Nah. Mr Virgil, do you have a favourite song?”

Mr Virgil? Oh, that was him. He blinked repeatedly attempting to bring his brain back online. “Um. Uh, I-I don’t sing.”

“You don’t sing? Why not?”

He screwed his eyes shut a moment. “Um…”

“Why don’t you sing, Mr Virgil?”

Hurts.

“Mom…died.”

“Your Mom died? Really?”

There was something in the boy’s voice that brought Virgil back into focus abruptly. “I-it was a l-long time ago. D-don’t worry.”

But it didn’t seem to be enough and Daniel stopped talking. He turned his head towards the boy, blinking blearily. “Daniel?”

“Do you think we are going to die?”

“N-no, no, Intern-tional Rescue will get us out. Th-they will.”

“But what if they don’t?” Tears were appearing in Daniel’s eyes. There were sobs from the other children.

A breath. By force of will. “Because I know they will, Daniel. I trust them with my life. I-I trust them w-with yours.” He sagged and held back a whimper. Please, Scott, hurry.

He focussed on breathing for the next moment or two, the children’s sobs slowly dropping off. Somewhere in the distance there was an erratic hammering.

“I- I know a song.” The words were out before he could think about it any further.

Four pairs of eyes fixed on him. Jana was still awake, but not fully aware of her surroundings.

“Can you sing it, Mr Virgil?”

“I c-can try.” Using as little of his stomach muscles as possible, he drew in a breath.

_Listen, my son._   
_Listen and learn_   
_Be what you can_   
_And make what you will be_

The tune was slow and gentle, but his voice was scratchy and broken and he wasn’t doing it justice. He suspected his mother had made up the song. Some of his earliest memories were of her singing it softly.

_L-Love with your all_   
_Share with your heart_   
_And know_   
_I am there for you_   
_And will always be_

Maybe she was. He didn’t know. All he knew is that she was gone.

_If you can hear_   
_A-answer_   
_If you have v-voice_   
_Sing_   
_For the world is unkind_   
_And it needs your t-touch._

There was dust in his throat and it brought tears to his eyes.

Then he was coughing and the world disappeared in a blaze of pain.

-o-o-o-

It became a tunnel under the debris. Jacks held up everything but even then there was only enough room to crawl on his belly. Virgil was their expert on this kind of excavation. He would have known exactly where to dig, what support was needed, the safest way in…focus! It was no good wishing for what you didn’t have. Work with what you do have.

His father’s voice echoed inside his head.

Securing what he hoped was the last tunnel jack, he lasered through the remaining chunk of collapsed masonry. Shining his flashlight into the gap beyond, he encountered a forest of school desk legs. Art tables. Strong, sturdy, flecked with paint.

“Gordon, I’m through. Follow with the jacks and secure.”

“FAB.”

He dragged himself into the darkness, the tough material of his uniform doing its job as he scraped over rock and grit.

His light landed on the face of a woman, her eyes closed. He reached out and touched her dust-coated throat. A thready pulse. “Alan, we have a survivor, unknown female adult. I need you in here with a drag board.”

“FAB, Scott.”

Behind him he could hear Gordon lugging in the jacks. At least being smaller the aquanaut would be able to navigate the table legs with more ease than Scott was managing.

As he moved the darkness lightened to reveal a young girl. Not a survivor. There had been so many today. He passed her by.

He could hear singing.

Virgil?

Shuffling on his stomach he headed slightly to his left, bending his shoulders sideways to get around the table legs and avoid a tipped over chair. He dare not touch anything before the jacks were in place. Beams of light flicking around behind reassured him that his brothers were making that happen.

The words of the song in his brother’s strained voice reached his ears. Goddamnit, Virgil! He shone the light around desperately attempting to find that hole between the crawl space and that bolthole his brother was in. There, no….damnit….there.

He shifted just as the song burst into a fit of coughing, a cut off scream and a painful moan.

“Virgil!”

No answer.

“Gordon, get a jack over here!” He turned his head only to find his brother right beside him, the lightweight jack already in his hand.

“Crawl space is secure as it is going to get.” His smaller brother, lithely slipped between the last of the table legs and set up the jack to support the opening.

Children were crying.

“Gordon, get in there. Get the kids out.”

His brother didn’t hesitate, slipping easily into the small hole. “Hey, kids. It is time to get out of here.”

“Who are you?” The challenge was little more than a sob.

“International Rescue, at your service.”

“Are you Mr Virgil’s brother? Mr John?”

“Uh, no, I’m Mr Gordon. Now kids we need to hurry. Mr Scott needs to get in here and help Mr Virgil.”

And then there were kids filing out.

He did his best to smile at them, but every fibre in his being needed to be in there with Virgil. Gordon appeared last, helping a little girl. The expression on his face made it clear he was torn, not wanting to leave, but there were kids to care for and he knew his responsibility. “I’ll be back asap.” His eyes latched onto Scott’s and the eldest steeled himself.

As soon as his brother was out of the way, Scott made it to the gap and squeezed himself through. His flashlight painted his brother in pale skin and red blood.

Not daring to think, Scott immediately set into a first aid assessment. His brother had lost consciousness and no prodding or calling of his name got any response. His pulse was fast. There was a darkening bruise on his right temple, but it was the spreading stain of red at his waist that had Scott gently pulling away his red flannelette shirt to reveal the injury he knew was underneath.

Scott bit his lip to hold back his reaction. “No challenge, bro. None.” He drew in a breath. “Gordon, we need another drag board in here.”

“Here already, Scott.” His brother’s head poked through the gap. “Kids are with the paramedics.”

Scott didn’t respond. “He’s impaled on the wall’s rebar. We’re going to have to cut him out. Pad the wound while I try to find a way to free him.”

Gordon palmed the board’s heavy duty first aid kit while Scott attempted to find a way to get to the other side of his brother in this cramped space. He ended up straddling him, one knee either side of his hips and bending awkwardly to see where that blasted piece of metal entered his brother.

There was blood everywhere.

A combination of his flashlight and his fingertips found the entrance wound and the tiny amount of space below it. He didn’t want to move his brother at all, but getting the laser down there… Screw it, he’d obliterate the wall if he had to. “Gordon, hold him.”

His brother anchored Virgil with his own weight, holding him as still as possible. Scott activated the laser and cut through stone and metal, severing the impaling rebar from the fallen wall, leaving the chunk still inside his brother, but freeing him for evacuation.

“Okay, pad it and ready for transport.” His fingers were covered in his brother’s blood.

No time to think.

Fistfuls of wound wadding later, his brother was stabilised for transport.

A small sigh and Virgil stopped breathing.

“Oh, goddamnit, don’t you dare.”

Gordon grabbed the drag board and lined it up with his second eldest brother. A count to three and they lifted Virgil onto the flat surface, Scott tipping his brother’s head back and forcing breath into his lungs. Don’t you dare, Virgil. Don’t you…

“No pulse.” Gordon’s voice broke.

“Goddamnit, Virgil!” He let the anger fuel him. Counting in his head as Gordon began compressions and he breathed for his brother. Why don’t you listen? The world needs you.

I need you.

Alan poked his head in, face pale, wordlessly handing over a bag valve mask. Scott grabbed it and placed it over his brother’s face, pumping filtered air into his lungs. His fingers sought his brother’s pulse. C’mon, Virg, please.

There was a cough under the mask.

Gordon paused, hovering to resume.

A soft thud beneath Scott’s fingertips. Another. Virgil’s chest rose by itself.

Okay.

“Move.” His brothers moved in concert, not a word said. Virgil was likely in hypovolemic shock and could crash again at any time.

They moved.

-o-o-o-

 


	6. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Love  
> Part 6 of 6, directly after Learn  
> Author: Gumnut  
> 14-16 Aug 2018  
> Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/Thunderbirds: TOS  
> Rating: Teen  
> Summary: For the world is unkind and it needs your touch.  
> Word count: 5076  
> Spoilers & warnings: None  
> Author’s note: I have no idea whether this worked or not. I claim no knowledge of any of the subjects so I apologise if my mad Librarian skillz haven’t been up to task. No beta, because I’m too lazy. I really hope you enjoy it in any case.  
> Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

The piano stool was a little high for him, but not high enough to daunt his determination. If Mom could sit up there, so could he. He shoved his chest onto the soft cover, pushing himself up, feet dangling below as he twisted his hips, attempting to get a leg up. An extra swing and his knee caught the edge and he pulled himself up.

Pushing himself upright, he finally found himself sitting at the piano. His feet dangled way off the ground.

But he could reach those wonderful keys.

Reaching out, he touched one slice of ivory just gently. A single note thrummed softly. Another. A higher note.

Balancing on his butt, he brought both hands into play, just like Mom did. Several keys at once. One, two, three. Up in scale. Three, two, one. Down in scale. Two, one, three. Three, one, two. He giggled. He could make music.

Five, two, three, one, four. One, five, six, four, two, three. More giggles.

“That is beautiful, honey.”

He startled, looking up to see his Mom smiling down at him.

“Mommy, play?”

She smiled at him. “Perhaps a little. Scoot over, sweetie.”

He shuffled to one side on the stool and his Mom sat beside him, her fingers automatically dropping to the keys and dancing out a little tune.

“Do you like the piano, Virgil?”

He nodded. “Sounds nice.”

“Would you like to learn how to play it?”

“Can I?”

“You can do anything you want to, honey.”

“Can you teach me?”

Another smile. “I can help you, but only you can learn what you want to learn.”

“Yes, Mom.” Hopeful. “Can I try?”

She lifted him onto her lap and holding out both his little hands, she splayed his fingers. “Your fingers will make the music. You need to practise until they make music without you thinking about it. Do you think you can do that?”

“I can try, Mom.”

She kissed his hair. “Good boy.” She touched a key in the centre of the keyboard. “This is called Middle C. It all begins here.”

-o-o-o-

Scott stared at his brother’s chest, watching it rise and fall with each breath. The soft sound of inhalation and exhalation was keeping him sane.

Hypovolemic shock, cardiac arrest, gastrointestinal tract perforation, associated peritonitis and threatened sepsis.

Concussion.

Virgil no longer had an appendix.

And his large intestine was full of stitched up holes.

But he was breathing.

In.

Out.

All by himself.

Scott stared.

Breathe.

-o-o-o-

He watched his mother’s hands. “You can play the chords with your left hand and the melody with your right.” To demonstrate she played a simple tune backed by several chords. Her left hand paused and the her right slipped into a more complicated melody. “Or not.” She looked at him. “Would you like to try.”

“Sure.” His fingers weren’t quite long enough for some of the stretches, but he had a few dependable ones up his sleeve.

He sat next to her on the stool and she leant back giving him room.

Left hand C Major followed by F Major, then G Major, repeat. Right hand, simple tune dancing up and down the scale.

“Lovely, Virgil. Where did you find that one?”

He shrugged. “Made it up.”

Her expression was unreadable for a moment before she suddenly stood up and walked across the room to a cabinet. She rummaged in there for a moment before returning to him with a simple tablet. “Here, honey. If you are going to create music, you should write it down so you can play it again.”

She opened a program on the tablet. “Touch here to write the notes, and here to record the music as you play.”

His eyes widened. “Thanks, Mom.”

She smiled at him. “Do you remember that song I used to sing to you?”

“Which one?”

She sat forward, her back automatically straightening, her fingers hovering over the keys, before gently touching out the music.

And she sang.

_Listen, my son._   
_Listen and learn_   
_Be what you can_   
_And make what you will be_   
_Love with your all_   
_Share with your heart_   
_And know_   
_I am there for you_   
_And will always be_

_If you can hear_   
_Answer_   
_If you have voice_   
_Sing_   
_For the world is unkind_   
_And it needs your touch._

A run of notes and it ended. It was familiar, but he wasn’t sure from where.

She reached over and touched the tablet. A list of compositions appeared. She chose one. It was titled ‘Virgil’. “I wrote that shortly after you were born.” She smiled a little self-consciously. “Think of it as some of my thoughts for the future of my new baby boy.” Her eyes sparkled.

Virgil stared down at the notes. Wow.

He gently placed the tablet up on the music rack, and straightening his back, began to play.

The first time around he focussed on the playing of the music. On the second he sung the words.

There was silence for a moment after he finished. He looked up at his Mom to find her staring at him, her eyes wide.

“Do you like singing, Virgil?”

He shrugged again. “It’s okay.”

The following week found him at an audition for the local choir.

He was successful.

-o-o-o-

Time in hospital is a weird thing. Sometimes it stretches out and seems to last forever, other times it moves so fast, you could blink and lose everything.

One step forward, two steps backward.

That morning Virgil was improving. That afternoon, he was back in intensive care, his fever skyrocketing.

Scott was reduced to sitting beside the bed, simply holding his brother’s hand.

And begging.

-o-o-o-

His mother straightened his collar, the lipstick on her lips shining in the overhead lighting. “You’ll do wonderfully, Virgil.”

He nodded, too nervous to say anything.

“Trust me, honey, I know. You were made for this.”

He smiled just a little at her before suddenly grabbing her in a desperate hug. “Thanks, Mom.”

Her arms wrapped around him and she kissed his hair. “Now, don’t mess yourself up. It is nearly time.” She ran a finger down his cheek. “Your brothers and I will be in the audience. We are there for you. Remember that.”

“I will, Mom.” Her fingers brushed his chin before she turned and left, forcing him to face the fact that within minutes, he would be out on stage, in the spotlights singing his heart out.

“Come now, Virgil, we can’t have our lead wandering off.” The choir master was an excellent singer and conductor, but a little odd in everything else. Including the peacock hat she was wearing tonight.

The feather bounced off beat.

The lights were bright, the music loud, but the atmosphere was vibrant. And he was singing.

First with the entire choir, then separate alone, a single pure voice above the music. He felt alive. This was what he wanted to do. This was everything.

He had wings.

-o-o-o-

The doctors couldn’t give him any definitive answers.

Virgil’s body had taken such a beating, between the injury and the infections, they couldn’t guarantee his brother had it in him to survive.

Scott’s spirit steeled at that. Virgil was one of the strongest people he knew. He was fit, he was healthy, he was as stubborn as the Thunderbird he flew.

And he had four brothers who dearly wanted to see him fly her again.

International Rescue shut down its services for an indefinite amount of time. The world complained, but Scott didn’t have the ears for it.

He spent his days beside his fallen brother, attempting to give him what he could in his fight.

But no matter what he did, Virgil lay there waxen and drawn, not waking, not reacting.

To anything.

Now there was talk of maybe he would never wake up.

Gordon ended up yelling at the doctor and had to be restrained, Scott pulling him back into his arms, desperately trying to give what little comfort he could.

Alan looked like a ghost, there but not.

John disappeared into research desperately looking for something that might help.

And Scott…Scott wept when no one was looking. Dropped his forehead onto his brother’s and pleaded with him to come back. Please, Virgil. Please.

Days turned into weeks.

-o-o-o-

The tablet in his hand trembled.

The email had arrived. “Mom, it’s here.” Even his voice shook.

His mother who had been attending to Alan in the nursery, hurried down the hall. “Really?”

“I think so, Mom” He bit his lip, nervous as he could be. “Should I open it?”

“Of course, you should, honey.” She wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “We’ll celebrate if they said yes, or we’ll celebrate if they said no.”

He touched the subject line and his breath hitched.

_‘Dear Mr Tracy,_

_We are happy to inform you that your application for the Austrian Boys Performing Choir has been accepted. You are one of five successful applicants of over three thousand, and should be congratulated._

_Please report to our choral hall in Vienna…’_

Oh my god. “Mom! I got in!”

And then there was hugging, and cheering, and yelling for John and Scott. His father was contacted. There were celebrations all round.

Plans were made for the following month. The whole family would go to take advantage of the travel opportunity. Much discussion was had about what they could do in Austria. There were museums, piles of history to wade through, hiking and definitely some skiing. The Austrian Alps were a must see.

But Virgil’s head was in the clouds. This was it. A world class choir. This was his opportunity and he was going to take it.

-o-o-o-

“C’mon, man, you have to eat something.”

“Gordon, I said, I’m not hungry. Please just leave it.”

The aquanaut sat down beside his eldest brother and joined his stare at the wan figure on the bed. There was less of Virgil there every day. “Scott, if you don’t eat, you’ll end up in the bed beside him. I can’t afford to lose both of you.” His voice cracked.

Scott’s voice was smouldering flame. “We’re not losing anyone.”

“We will if you don’t eat!”

“Please, just leave it, Gordon.” The sound of pain.

“I can’t, Scott.”

His brother didn’t answer, his head just dropping into his hand, his elbow on the bed.

Gordon knew he was losing both of them. If Virgil didn’t wake up… He could take it personally. Didn’t Scott have three more brothers to live for? But he understood it far too well.

His mother. His father. His brother.

How much more were they expected to lose before they lost everything?

Please, Virgil, just wake up.

It had been nearly three weeks now. His brother’s body was healing, the wounds sealed, the infections defeated, but he refused to stir. The doctors didn’t know why. The longer he was under the less likely it would be that he would ever wake.

Gordon let his hand drop onto his brother’s blanket covered leg, gripping his lax limb lightly as if to pass on some of his own energy through the bedclothes.

Out of all his brothers, Gordon understood his second eldest the least, but there was something about the man, his quiet smile, gentle demeanour and fierce loyalty that drew him in. Drew them all in. Virgil was their fulcrum. An ironic thought, him being an engineer, but true nonetheless. Scott led them, but Virgil…Virgil kept them together.

“He was singing. Just before we reached him. I guess he was trying to keep the kids entertained.” Scott was staring at Virgil, but his eyes were focussed elsewhere.

“Singing? Virgil doesn’t sing.”

Scott snorted.

“What? He doesn’t. Well, all except for that one night with the Hollies.” Now that had been an eyeopener. Not to mention completely mystifying. Whoever wrote He’s not heavy, he’s your brother obviously had never tried picking up Virgil. His brother was built like a tank.

Scott shifted in his chair, turning to look at Gordon. “Haven’t you ever wondered why, in a family full of stars, Virgil has never shone as brightly?”

Gordon frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Look at you, you are an Olympic Gold Medallist. Alan is a champion race car driver. John an astronaut – you don’t get much higher in achievement than astronaut, so that adds even more shine to Alan. Me, I’m top of the line Air Force. Dad, another astronaut and one of the most successful businessmen on the planet.” He paused for breath. “But what is Virgil?”

Gordon’s hackles rose. “Virgil is a brilliant engineer. What the hell are you saying, Scott?”

“Gordon.” His brother reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “Engineering was Virgil’s second choice in career. Not his first.”

-o-o-o-

He loved it. It was everything he could have dreamt of.

And they loved him too. Two months in and he was lead soloist, the choirmaster having taken a particular shine to his vocal offering.

Of course, it wasn’t perfect. Put a bunch of young boys together in any setting and there will eventually be scuffles of all kinds, no matter the interest in common. But he managed to keep out of trouble, despite the occasional spat of jealousy from his choirmates.

His mother moved the family temporarily to Vienna, the older brothers taking classes online for the last few months of the year. John loved it. Scott grumbled that he was missing his friends. Gordon and Alan were more excited about the snow than anything else.

Even Grandma and Grandpa came to stay for a while. The only person who didn’t join them was Dad. He had important business in the States he couldn’t ignore. But he kept in contact and visited regularly.

Everything was wonderful.

His main focus was the end of year concert, a large production to be televised across the world. A last secular offering before the Magic of Christmas three weeks after that. Virgil had been asked to perform in both and was consumed with practise.

The family had rented a house with a small studio out back. His mother hired a piano specially for this space and when she could grab a moment away from his brothers, she would play and he would sing.

He suspected she enjoyed it as much as he did.

And he would cherish the memories of those moments with her for the rest of his life.

Because the weekend before the final performance, everything came to an end.

Father was there. Grandma was there. Scott looked so pale. Where was Grandpa? He found himself with an armful of distraught Alan, John beside him equally clutching Gordon. Scott’s hand gripping his shoulder.

His father’s tear-filled eyes.

Mom was gone.

Gone.

-o-o-o-

Gordon stared at his brother. “What?”

Scott blinked a moment and let his hand drop. He looked away, staring once again at Virgil’s pale face. “Virgil was a world class choral singer.” Scott swallowed. “Or he could have been. He never gave himself the chance to win his gold medal.”

Incredulous frown. “Wha-?! When the hell did that happen?”

Scott looked back at him. “Why were we in Austria, Gordon?”

“When, Mom-? We were skiing!” Stupid Austria, never wanted to step foot inside that country ever again. Well, only if they were calling for help. Stupid country.

“We were there for Virgil. He had an opportunity to perform with the Austrian Boys Performing Choir.”

Gordon blinked. Even he had heard of them. “Really?”

“Lead soloist.”

His eyes shot to his unconscious brother, his dark hair stark against his pale skin and the white bed sheets “But Mom died.”

“Yes, she did.”

-o-o-o-

“You cannot possibly expect him to perform.”

“He has to. We have no replacement.”

“No understudy?”

“He has taken ill. We need Virgil to perform.” The choirmaster’s Austrian accent was getting stronger by the minute. “The world will be watching.”

“He has just lost his mother!” Something in Virgil’s stomach twisted at the pain in his father’s voice. “How can you possibly ask him to do this?”

“This is his opportunity! His chance! The world must hear his beautiful voice.” The ‘master was pleading now. “This is what his mother would have wanted.”

Virgil stared at the man. What his mother would have wanted?

Beside him he could almost feel his father’s body temperature increase. “How the hell would you-!“

“Dad. I’ll do it.”

His father’s attention immediately focussed on him. “Virgil-“

“He’s right Dad. She loved this. I want to do it for her.”

“You don’t have to, son.”

He pressed his lips together. “Yes. I do.”

-o-o-o-

The last few days leading up to the performance were a blur. A blur of sympathetic looks, concerned questions and lone practise.

When the night finally came, Virgil was exhausted. There was no question of his resolve. He was going to do this. The question was – was he able?

Scott stood with him in the wings. Dad and his brothers were in the audience. None of them were at their best and he felt guilty for dragging them all here. They would be going home tomorrow, taking Mom with them. His understudy would be taking the Christmas performance, Virgil just needed to get through tonight.

He fiddled with his suit.

“You’ll do great, Virgil.” Scott’s voice was soft, his blue eyes shining, a small encouraging smile on his face.

Virgil grabbed him and hugged with everything he had. “Thanks, big bro.”

“Do it for, Mom.”

Looking up at his brother, he smiled. “For Mom.”

Giving his arms one last squeeze, Virgil stepped away from his brother and strode out on the stage, taking up his lone forward position behind the curtain, the rest of the choir rustling into place behind him. A quick glance back at his brother in the wings.

Scott smiled sadly at him.

For Mom.

The stage hands counted down.

He drew in breath, deep in his core.

The curtain opened.

He opened his mouth.

And he sang.

-o-o-o-

“The newscasts had him front and centre for weeks afterwards.” Scott’s expression managed to be both proud and bleak at the same time. “We fled. Buried Mom. And hid.”

Gordon frowned, trying to remember back that far. He had been so young at the time. He remembered the funeral, but not much else. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why was he on the newscasts so much? Why did we hide? Why isn’t he a famous singer? Pick a question, Scott!”

His brother pressed his lips together before reaching into his back pocket for a mini holoprojector. He brought up a search screen, hooked into the nets and within moments a fifteen-year-old holocast of a young Virgil Tracy was hovering above the device.

“This is why.” Scott hit the play button.

His brother opened his mouth and sang.

From his heart.

The song wasn’t in English. It was in German, but it didn’t need to be understood intellectually. His voice spoke emotion and emotion responded. Gordon could hear the sadness in his brother, he could hear what he was feeling.

A verse in, and the back of the stage lit up, revealing the rest of the choir who joined in, harmonising with Virgil’s lead. But their spirit lacked his fire and were merely a vague echo.

Gordon had seen Virgil lose himself to the piano before, but this was something else.

His brother’s voice truly was golden, even to a tin ear like his own, but it was the power behind it, the loss he knew his brother was experiencing, the painfilled energy and passion. His brother was an artist, and this was the artist in his defining medium.

The holographic Virgil had tears running down his face.

No orchestral accompaniment. The whole structure of the piece rested of Virgil’s lead. He controlled it. His voice cut the air, the others strung behind him. He held the ebb and flow and he drew it to a crescendo. Again. And again. And then he shut it down.

Two more softly sung words and silence.

Virgil let his head drop.

And the auditorium erupted with applause and screaming ovations.

Young Virgil turned and walked off the stage.

Scott flicked off the projector.

And Gordon discovered two soft brown eyes staring directly at him.

-o-o-o-

Scott saw Gordon’s eyes widen and turned abruptly to find Virgil, eyes open and staring at his younger brother.

“Virgil?”

Those eyes flicked to him, drooped closed, then opened again. His dry lips parted. “Wha-?”

Scott grabbed the jug of water from beside the bed and shakily poured a sip of water into a plastic cup and offered it to his brother. “Here, a little at a time.”

Virgil swallowed, looking over the cup at the both of them. He handed the empty cup back to Scott. “What were you doing?”

“Distracting Gordon.”

“From what?”

“From you.”

“With me?”

“You saw that?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re a good singer.”

“I know.”

“He didn’t.”

“Did he have to?”

“I think so.”

“Okay.”

And Virgil’s eyes slipped closed again, his body relaxing into sleep.

Scott felt his face heating up, a stupid grin battling with the tears welling in his eyes. Gordon grabbed him in an excited hug, an incoherent sob his only words.

Oh, thank god!

-o-o-o-

Days passed and Virgil slowly woke more often and for longer periods. All his brothers, Grandma, Kayo, even Lady Penelope and Parker dropped in to visit.

Gordon was there the second time he woke up and was interrogated on the condition of Thunderbird Two. Something about damaging her wing on exiting the hanger. Gordon blamed it on the man’s illness. How could he possibly think he would be foolish enough to endanger his own life by damaging his brother’s ‘Bird? There were much better ways to die. Like being burnt alive.

Of course, waking up was only the first step in a long recovery. Rehabilitation, particularly for his abdominal muscles was in the journey ahead, but after such desolation, the simple act of his brother opening his eyes had lifted the pall hovering over them.

Gordon had to admit to some curiosity about the past though. Why hadn’t his brother continued singing? He was obviously damn good at it.

He considered asking Virgil, and he was certainly planning on discussing it with him sometime in the future, but he could see it was a sensitive subject and now was definitely not the time.

John was eagerly discussing something with his dark-haired brother. Something no doubt to do with monitoring lifesigns no matter what they were wearing. He’d been raving about the lack of information on Virgil’s condition during the situation since it had happened. Gordon was pretty sure that not-so-Big Brother would soon be watching his body functions from afar at all times. He rolled his eyes.

Maybe he could rig one that let John know, with the appropriate sound effects, each time he passed wind.

Squeezing Virgil’s knee, he indicated he would be back in a moment to rescue him, and then set off to find Scott. The real big brother had wandered off on a mission to acquire lunch and he had taken so long, Gordon wondered if he’d been attacked by the hospital tea lady and stuck in a freezer some where for safe keeping.

So it was with some surprise he found his brother sitting quietly in the corner of the cafeteria drinking mineral water. A pair of tired blue eyes glanced up at him as he approached.

“Watcha doin, big bro? I thought there would be lunch.”

“There is. It is being prepared.”

Gordon took the seat opposite Scott. “So you’re hanging out here in the meantime?”

Scott shrugged. “I thought perhaps John might like some time with Virgil for a bit.”

“Uh huh.”

“What?”

Gordon eyed him a moment. “Nothin’.”

Lips thinning. “What do you want, Gordon?’

“What, I can’t sit next to you? Is this seat taken? Got some hot chick waiting for me to move my butt?”

Scott rolled his eyes.

“I repeat. What do you want, Gordon?”

“I’m curious.”

“About what?”

“Why Virgil doesn’t sing, despite being damn good at it.”

“Mom died.”

“Well, yeah.”

“He barely spoke for nearly a month after that concert, much less sang anything.” Scott grimaced. “We were all worried. Dad was beside himself. Virgil simply shut down. We took him to specialists, but he wouldn’t respond. It was like he just didn’t want to use his voice anymore. So, when he did finally start talking again, we didn’t want to push it. We were just happy to have him back.” Scott paused. “That ‘night with the Hollies’ was the first time I had heard him sing in fifteen years. I wasn’t even sure he could anymore.” Scott put down his drink, staring at it. “He was really close to Mom. He took it really hard.”

“But he plays the piano.”

Scott looked up. “Honestly, I think he’s meeting her halfway. I’m sure part of it is grief, but I’m also damn convinced that a good chunk of it is anger.”

“Virgil? Angry? You’re kidding.”

Scott shrugged. “Each to his own. We cope how we cope.” He drank the last of his drink and stood up. “It appears lunch is ready.” And Scott grabbed the crate of food offered to him by the tea lady.

Gordon frowned.

-o-o-o-

Virgil knew he was getting better because he was getting more and more frustrated about being stuck in bed. Sure, he could now get out of bed any time he liked, but the exercise was one of pain and embarrassment.

And he needed help.

He had no strength in anything and it was annoying.

So, he was sitting up in bed, a pile of pillows securing him so he wouldn’t strain his injuries, doodling aimlessly on the hospital menu when Angela walked in the door.

“You up for a visitor or two?”

His mood immediately lifted, his face splitting into a grin. “Angela!”

She grinned back and rushed over to him, her hug gentle, but no less heartfelt.

“Mr Virgil?”

“Daniel?!” He looked towards the door again.

“And Jana, Marissa, Alex and Johnny!” The eight-year-old bounded into the room, followed by his little posse. Alex had his arm in plaster and Jana was still sporting the red remains of the scrape on the side of her face, but all of them were grinning like crazy.

“C’mon here, all you.” And he held out his arms. With a squawk of ‘Be careful!’ from Angela, he found himself hugged gently all over by the five children.

“How are you all?”

“Better!” This from Jana.

“What about you, Mr Virgil? They wouldn’t let us visit you for such a long time.”

A soft smile. “Getting better every day.” He didn’t fail to notice Scott smiling in the doorway. “Hey, Daniel, did you want to meet the pilot of Thunderbird One?”

“Really, can I?” His eyes lit up like twin moons.

Virgil grinned. “Turn around. This is my brother Scott. He likes to fly fast.”

Scott straightened up, a flash of trepidation crossing his face before his Field Commander professional façade slipped on.

Daniel and the other kids stared up at him. There were a couple of dropped jaws.

“Hi, guys. V-…Mr Virgil tells me you like Thunderbird One.”

“So cool!” Daniel’s head looked like it was about to explode. “How fast can you go? Can you go into space like Thunderbird Three? Can you go faster than Thunderbird Three? Can I see her?”

And those were just Daniel’s questions. Virgil grinned as the kids swarmed his brother.

Angela smiled at him. “They’ve been asking about you since that first day.”

“How are they?”

Her smile slipped a bit. “As well as can be expected. They’ve all lost friends, so they’ve banded together with their shared experience.” She tilted her head. “The only team member who has been missing is you.”

“Me?”

Her lips twisted slightly. “I hear rumour you’re not a bad singer.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Really? I hear rumour you are going for the record number of rescues by International Rescue.”

A blush and an awkward smile. “Well, then, Mr Virgil.” She poked him in the shoulder. “I expect you to get well as soon as possible so you will be available for the next one. I expect only the best in my rescuing.”

Another smile and she lent closer and whispered, “Besides Thunderbird Two really is the coolest.”

-o-o-o-

Scott found his brother sitting on the front porch steps. The day was cool, but dry, the winter sun low on the horizon. Kansas stretched out before them and a light breeze tousled his hair.

“Hey, Virgil.” He received no response, but then he didn’t expect one. Virgil said very little now.

He plopped himself down beside his brother. Virgil had his head in one hand, his elbow held up by his knee. He was staring into the distance.

“I’ve got something for you.”

His brother’s eyes darted towards him for a moment, before returning to their distant stare.

Scott brought the sketchbook around onto his lap and opened it. “I figured that if you weren’t going to talk, then to have a good conversation, you could write or draw things.” He grabbed the pencil. “For example, here is me sitting on the porch.” He drew a stick figure sitting on a step with a sketchbook on its knees. Well, that’s what it was supposed to be.

Looking up to see if Virgil understood what he was drawing, he was surprised to find his brother’s eyes pinned to the sketchbook.

“What, you think you can do better?”

Those brown eyes flicked up at him before reaching over and gently taking the book and pencil out of Scott’s hands.

Scott bit his lip as an artful facsimile of his brother appeared next to his stick figure.

His eyes widened. “Okay, so you can. Got yourself a full load of artistic genes there, bro.”

Virgil stared at him for a moment before returning the pencil to the paper.

The stick figure changed. Darker lines taking over as Scott appeared on the paper. Virgil’s frown of concentration was almost amusing.

“So mine not good enough, huh?”

Virgil sent him a half-lidded glare.

“Okay, okay, I bow to your artistic prowess, oh great brother of mine.”

That earned him some eye-rolling.

Scott hid a smile.

And Virgil kept drawing.

-o-o-o-

FIN

 


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Epilogue to Love  
> Part 7 of 6, directly after Love  
> Author: Gumnut  
> 19-20 Aug 2018  
> Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/Thunderbirds: TOS  
> Rating: Teen  
> Summary: For the world is unkind and it needs your touch.  
> Word count: 2426  
> Spoilers & warnings: None  
> Author’s note: Gordon had questions. The result was this. Virgil was uncooperative as per usual and I don’t think anyone really got any clear answers. But then, was it really anyone’s business? Eh, make of it what you will, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Many, many thanks to all the wonderful people who have read, liked, commented and reviewed this fic. You all feed my pen.  
> Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

Virgil closed his eyes and let the sun settle on his face. It wasn’t often that he lazed by the pool, but since the incident at St Bart’s he hadn’t been particularly mobile. He was still severely underweight, pale and slow moving, thanks to the dark scarring on the right side of his abdomen.

The day was perfect and after his physio in the pool, kindly supervised by Gordon, he lay topless in the sun, enjoying the warmth and the vitalising rays.

He let himself relax.

Sun.

The sound of birds.

The splash of water as his brother did a few laps.

He was home.

He was slowly getting better.

Tune in to the island.

A moment of relief.

“Virgil?”

Well, at least one moment.

He refused to open his eyes. “Yes, Gordon?”

“So, you sing, huh?”

It was inevitable.

“No, Gordon, I don’t.”

“But you can?”

“But I don’t.”

“Why?”

“I presume Scott gave you the full story. If not, I’m sure he is available for an update.”

“Virgil.”

“Gordon.”

There was the sound of water splashing on the pavers and then soft footpads as his wet brother approached. The creak of the lounge beside him.

Gordon’s voice was quiet. “I’m just trying to understand, Virgil. You...can sing, brilliantly, and, well, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t. I thought we had covered this.”

Gordon sighed, but didn’t say anything further.

Virgil tuned him out and attempted to reconnect with the island. Peace. Relax.

But no, his conscience niggled him. He frowned.

Damn.

A sigh. “What did you want to know, Gordon?”

A rustle beside him. “Uh, why don’t you sing?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“You sang that Hollies song.”

“It was the only way to get you guys to stop fighting.”

“You sing and dance to music in your studio.”

“What?” Virgil’s eyes shot open and he sat up. Ow, damnit. Slower. He gripped his side.

“Hey, hey, take it easy, Virg.” Gordon leapt off his lounge and knelt beside Virgil, his hands attempting to support him.

Virgil pinned him with his eyes. “When were you in my studio?”

“Uh, um, never?” Technically.

He narrowed his eyes.

Gordon moved back a little. “Well, you do, don’t you?”

“How would you know?”

“Educated guess?”

Virgil pressed his lips together. “Stay out of my studio, Gordon.”

He held up his hands in defence. “Never step foot in it, I swear.”

The glare continued for a moment before Virgil shifted his weight awkwardly and edged himself back down. So much for the relaxation. Determined, he closed his eyes.

“You sang to those kids.”

Virgil sagged. “What do you want me to say, Gordon? I can sing, big deal.”

“It is a big deal. You could have been world famous. You could have been top of your profession.”

“I was world famous, or didn’t you notice the viewlist on that holo.” He was keeping his eyes closed, damnit.

“Exactly. The world wanted more of you. It was such an opportunity.”

Virgil threw himself into a sitting position, this time ignoring the flare of pain down his side. “It was a tragedy, Gordon. Nothing more, nothing less. The newscasts said it all. ‘Poor little Tracy boy sings his heart out at death of his mother’. They had no idea. No concept. She was-“ Gordon’s eyes were narrowed at him, his gaze flicking to Virgil’s right side, assessing. “Oh, for god’s sake, Gordon, I’m fine!” And he tried to stand up.

Too low, too injured. Too much gravity.

He staggered sideways and would have fallen off the lounge completely if Gordon hadn’t caught him. His brother’s arms seemed to hold him that moment longer before gently lowering him back down to the lounge. “C’mon, Virgil, take it easy.”

He was panting. Between the pain in his side and the aggravation of his mind, he was angry. He glared at Gordon. “I was until you started interrogating me.”

Gordon sighed and stepped back. “I’m sorry. I just want to understand.”

“Understand what? Why I didn’t go for my gold medal?”

“Well, yeah. Why not? It was there waiting for you. We Tracys always reach for the sky.”

“Those are Dad’s words.”

“Yeah, so.”

“How does a choral singer end up with his pilot’s license, Gordon? In fact, how did five out of five brothers end up with their pilot’s license?”

“Because Dad-“

“Precisely.”

Gordon frowned. “You can’t possibly blame this all on Dad. It was your choice.”

“I was ten years old, Gordon.”

“C’mon, Dad has always supported everything we’ve ever done.”

“Yes, and so did Mom.”

Gordon blinked and Virgil knew it was a low blow. His second youngest brother barely remembered his mother. Alan didn’t at all.

Virgil did. And to this day there was a gaping hole where she used to be.

A sigh. “Gordon, Mom was like me. You, Scott and Alan are like Dad. John…” He tilted his head to one side. “Well, John is John. But I’m…Mom understood.”

Quiet. “And we don’t?”

“No…yes…hell, I don’t know and, in any case, it is irrelevant because she is gone.”

“So, you don’t sing because Mom isn’t here.”

“She left, Gordon, okay!”

Virgil froze, realising what he had just said. Gordon’s eyes widened, and suddenly Virgil had to be anywhere but here. He struggled to his feet, shoving Gordon’s worried hands off him, turning only to trip over the end of the lounger.

Another pair of strong hands caught him and he looked up to be pinned by the frowning blue eyes of his big brother.

“Virgil, what the-“

He regained his balance, shoved an arm against his side and waved off his brother’s hands. “I’m okay. Just going inside.” He pointed upwards. “Sun. Too hot. Inside.” And before he could embarrass himself further, headed off to his room without looking back.

-o-o-o-

Scott watched Virgil stalking painfully back into the house before turning his gaze full strength onto his second youngest brother. “What did you do, Gordon?”

For once in his life, Gordon looked thoroughly guilty…and worried. “I asked him why he doesn’t sing.”

“Why? I thought I made it clear how difficult a subject that was for Virgil.” And this was precisely why both Gordon and Alan hadn’t been told in the first place. Well, one of the reasons.

“I want to understand him, Scott. The guy mystifies me. I can’t understand why he wouldn’t have gone for it.”

Scott’s lips thinned. “Did you find out?”

“He said Mom left.”

“Mom died.”

“No, he said Mom ‘left’. Something about us being like Dad and him being like Mom and she left. Even accused Dad of forcing us all to get our pilot’s licenses. Dad wouldn’t have stopped Virgil from singing would he?”

The expression on Gordon’s face was almost pleading, as if he was looking for reassurance that the pedestal he had placed his father on didn’t have cracks in it.

Scott looked down a moment and chewed on his lip. Thinking back to that time wasn’t something he enjoyed. “I don’t think so. We were all pretty messed up, particularly Dad. Virgil not talking didn’t help.” He looked up at Gordon again. “I don’t recall him saying anything against Virgil continuing to sing.” A sigh. “But then I don’t remember any encouragement either.” He shrugged. “It was a bad time, for all of us.”

“I just keep thinking, what if I hadn’t pursued my swimming career? How would I have felt?” Russet brown eyes stared up at him. “It would have been…I really can’t comprehend how he has been feeling all these years. It must have hurt. And to think he is still hurting…”

“Of course, it hurt. Do you think I haven’t thought of that? That I haven’t had to watch him go through that? I was there, Gordon. He stopped speaking. Couldn’t utter a damn word to save himself. I-“ Scott threw up his hands. “I almost wish I hadn’t shown you that video. Bringing this up all over again-“

“Well, maybe it needs to be brought up again. He is obviously still hurting.” Gordon’s hackles were up, his glare passionate.

“It will never stop hurting, Gordon!” Now he was shouting. “Mom is gone. She’s never coming back. And there is not a damn thing we can do about it.”

“This isn’t about Mom! This is about Virgil! Yes, we lost her. Yes, he lost her support as well. Why the hell didn’t we step in and help? There was never any lack of support for my swimming. Or for your Air Force ambitions, race car driving, or god forbid those of us who dared to astronaut. But piano, singing, art, where the hell is the career Virgil should have had, and why the hell was it replaced with engineering?”

“Because that is what he wanted!”

Gordon’s voice went deadly quiet. “No, it sounds like what Dad would have wanted.”

Scott stared at his brother, his blood boiling, but his heart breaking. Really? Could it be what had happened. Had they failed him?

A soft and slightly shaky voice entered the conversation. “I chose engineering because it is just another artform. Mom always said ‘Be what you can and make what you will be.’ So I did.” Virgil shrugged. “I can make music, and I can draw and paint, but I can also make a much bigger difference to this world as an engineer.”

Scott stared at his brother. The man looked pale and shrunken, his arm clutched at his side, but his eyes…there was a vulnerability in his eyes. Scott reached out a hand. “Virgil-“

His brother stepped slightly out of reach, obviously not willing to let himself be helped.

“I would have thought that would be obvious considering how many lives we’ve saved.”

“But are you happy?” The words burst from Scott, suddenly desperate for reassurance.

Virgil tilted his head and looked up at his brother. “Is that what is important here?”

“Yes!”

“Then I am.”

“Virgil.”

“Scott, this is old. Water under the bridge. Really, can we please leave it there?”

“If you are happy, then why don’t you sing? You were so happy back then, why not now?”

“I was ten!”

“You were happy!”

“I’m happy now!”

“Then sing!”

Virgil stood frozen for a moment, his glare defiant, but then something shifted in his stance, his shoulders straightening, his posture standing taller. His glare pinned Scott to the spot.

And he began to sing.

That same song from Vienna, German falling effortlessly from his lips. Gone was the boyish voice and in its place a deep rich baritone equally trained, equally practised, but long hidden. Barely aware of Gordon beside him, Scott was swept up in the depths of his brother’s voice. Pool side was hardly a choral hall, but Virgil projected his voice to his audience. In the house behind him, Alan suddenly appeared on the balcony, Kayo and Grandma from the kitchen.

Virgil’s gaze did not flicker from Scott at all.

The song rose to its crescendo, so familiar to Scott, once, twice and again, Virgil’s voice dipping towards its end, the absent choir not led, but compensated for. And then those two last words, softly sung to an amazed choral hall, translated into English as ‘love you’.

A stunned silence followed.

Until Virgil tilted slightly sideways. “Ow.” Scott darted over to his side, Gordon a split second behind him. Virgil wilted into their support. “Sorry. Don’t quite have the sustaining muscles at the moment.”

Without a word both brothers manhandled their negligent artist over to the lounger, nagging him to lie down.

“Okay, okay, I’m down. I’m fine, relax.”

“What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that the two of you should stop arguing about me.” He drew in a pained breath. “I was thinking I could shut you up.” Again with the glare.

“Was it worth it?”

“Maybe. Depends. You guys going to stop yelling?”

He could feel Gordon’s eyes on him, but he refused to drop his stare from Virgil. “Maybe.” He was now heavily aware of the extra audience his brother’s singing had harnessed. Grandma, Kayo and Alan now all stood at the kitchen doors. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“You.”

-o-o-o-

Virgil stared up at his brother. “What do you want me to say?”

Quietly, ever aware of their audience. “The truth.”

“Why?”

“I need to know.”

“You need to know.”

“Why don’t you sing?”

“I just did. You told me to.”

“Virgil.”

“Because I wanted to keep it for myself, okay. It is all I had left of her, and it was mine.” He tried not to flinch, but it was hard while lying prone under the stares of his brothers. “She was gone. I was the odd one out. The singing was mine, so I kept it for myself.” If he couldn’t have her, then no one could have him. He glared up at both of them. “Have we finished the psychoanalysis? I’d like to go back inside now.”

“You’re the ‘odd one out’?”

“Of course, I am.” He glared.

“But-“

“I’m not ashamed of it, Scott. I am what I am. Just a bit different from the rest of you. Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, I-“

“Then, for goodness sake, drop the subject and stop worrying.” He flicked his glare to Gordon. “You, too. I’m still the same person as I was before you discovered I was a choir boy. The rest is my business, so, politely, please leave it to me.”

He groaned as he tried to lever himself up on to his elbows. “Though, if you would be kind enough to give me a hand back inside…”

Both Scott and Gordon reached down and helped him to his feet. One under each arm, they walked him past the rest of the family, up to his room and to his bed. Virgil let himself relax into the mattress. He’d overdone it again, but it might have been worth it.

Gordon left, no doubt prompted by his brother, but Scott, as expected, hovered.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine, Scott. No need to worry.” He snuggled into the softness of the pillow. Lovely. Relax. “Just leave it. I’m fine.”

A muttered, “And you wonder why we don’t believe you.”

“What? Go, Scott, I’m fine.” And for good measure. “And I’ll even sing at Grandma’s next birthday if that will make you happy.”

“Really?”

“Get out.” It wasn’t quite a growl, but it was enough for the door to open and close rather quickly.

Finally, silence.

A deep breath.

Relax.

-o-o-o-

FIN


End file.
